I Have A Feeling You Got Everything You Wanted: Part 4 - George Clarke
George Clarke x Fem!reader (2.8k words)
The sidemen charity match , a gorgeous ex-boyfriend with a mullet and his entire friendgroup scattered around the stands to avoid ... what could ever go wrong?
warnings: talks of poor mental health and depression, but mostly a very fluffy chapter (potentially the happiest piece of fiction I've ever written I fear)
It's finally here and my longest part yet!! I'm so so sorry it took so long and I don't like how this part turned out but I hope y'all like it, I promise I'll get the next few parts out quickly to make up for vanishing for like a over a week <3
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The first thing I register when I wake up is the pounding of my head and the deep ache that weighs down my limbs. The second thing I become aware of is the manly scent in the air as opposed to the usual floral aroma my incense produces. The third thing is the fact that I am not in my own bed, but rather a larger and much more comfortable bed that I recognise all too well; George's.
I sit up in panic. What the fuck am I doing in my ex boyfriends bed? Luckily, I don’t have to wait too long to find out, because the door gently creaks open, George peeking his head into the room and smiling fondly when his gaze lands on me.
“Good morning lovey” he greets me, sitting down on the edge of the bed, keeping a respectable distance between us that makes me love and hate him all at once. He’s already dressed in blue jeans and a soft purple cardigan that compliments his pale complexion and sits well on his toned muscles.
“Morning” I whisper back shyly, forcing myself to stop looking at his muscles and to focus on the more pressing problem. “What happened last night? I don’t remember much” I break the silence that had settled once more, my anxiety only deepening as I watch his smile falter at the question.
“Do you remember how you ended up here?” he questions gently, and I shake my head. Oh fuck, did I try and seduce him or some shit? I internally panic, wondering if I have managed to majorly screw up things once again, despite the fact my reunion with George and my old friends quite literally began less than 24 hours ago.
My internal panic must be clear in my expression, because he shuffles closer, placing a hand on my duvet-covered knee and drawing soothing circles with his thumb. My breath-hitches at the sudden contact and I freeze, terrified to make one wrong move and scare him off, but he seems undeterred by my reaction, his hand remaining a grounding presence against my skin.
“Don’t worry, it’s not nearly as bad as what you're probably thinking - in the words of Arthur the alcohol ‘hit you like a truck’ and you threw up, but me and Chris took care of you and brought you back here” he explains. Well, at least I didn’t try to sleep with him.
“I’m so sorry” I flush, embarrassed at the fact I let myself get into that state in front of them. It’s not like they’d never seen me drunk before - my relationship with George had consisted of frequent pub-golf and clubbing nights that usually ended in me and Arthur Frederick being carried home by George and Isaac - but I hadn’t intended for the night to end that way last night of all nights. “I haven’t drank for a while, I guess the alcohol hit me harder than I thought it would’ve”.
“Yeah, you mentioned that last night” George says, and there’s an edge to his tone, bitter and filled with sadness, almost like he knows more than he’s letting on. I narrow my eyes at him, glad the distance between us hasn’t eradicated my ability to read him like an open book.
“Did I say anything else? Last night, I mean” I probe, desperate to know if I embarrassed myself any further. He hesitates, which pretty much answers my question.
“George..” I begin, not sure how to broach this when I’m not sure exactly what I said to him. If it’s bad enough for him to be hesitant to tell me, it means he either got hit with a brutal trauma-dump or a drunken love confession, and I’m not sure which one is worse.
“That was pretty much all you said, don’t worry” he interrupts, albeit softly, like he’s handling fragile glass that could shatter if he speaks any louder. Which, to be fair, he may not be too far wrong about. Before I can call out his obvious bluff, he holds out a hand to me and offers me a pleading expression, almost like he’s willing me to drop the subject. “Breakfast? I’ve made your favourite, scrambled eggs and hash browns in star shapes just how you like them”.
“You remembered” I exclaim excitedly, momentarily letting our prior conversation be shoved to the side at the thought of experiencing George’s cooking once again. Seriously, this man is annoyingly talented in everything he does, to the point that me and Arthur Hill made it into a game of taking George to different activities to find anything he’s bad at, with bowling being our only success.
“Of course I did” he grins, guiding me out of his bed and towards the kitchen.
“Eat your own hash browns you gremlin” I grumble playfully as I wack Chris’ hand away from my plate for the 4th time in the last 5 minutes. We are crammed around the slightly too-small table that everybody complained about since its purchase over a year ago but secretly nobody wanted to replace it as the proximity to each other was comforting. Especially in times like now, where the warmth of Chris and Arthur Hill’s elbows on either side of me and George’s knee touching mine were the only things tethering me to reality right now.
“But mine aren’t star shaped” Chris pouts dramatically, only sulking further as I let out a slightly smug “too bad Chrissy Pie” with a giggle. Falling back into the rhythm of bantering and bickering relentlessly with Chris covets my heart in a blanket of familiarity and a sense of home, warming my insides and putting me into a giggly state.
“So, when are you moving back in with us?” Arthur asks me, causing me to nearly choke on my coffee out of pure shock, although Chris and George both look like they were expecting the question to arise soon or later. His tone is entirely casual, like it’s an expected thing, like I’m allowed to just slot back into my old life with them.
“Moving-moving back in?” I stammer out, a storm of disbelief and anxiety swirling in my stomach. Moving back in with them would be like a dream come true; but exactly that, a dream, a fantasy rather than something that I deserve to actually happen to me.
“Only if you want to of course, but we were talking last night and figure why not” George adds on softly, clearly catching on to my hesitation.
“Plus we kept your old room as you left it, you would only have to move your clothes and cosmetics back in…unless you wanna go back to sharing with George of course-“ whatever pun Chris was about to make is cut off by George whacking the back of his head playfully, and I sit there in disbelief, choked up at how casual they are about adopting me into their dynamic once more, almost like I never even left.
“Y/n?” Chris probes more seriously now, looking at me with a little concerned furrow in his brows that breaks a half-laugh, half-sob out of me.
“Of course we are dummy, we love you” “absolutely” “positive”
“Well I suppose my days of peace and quiet are over” I joke weakly and all 3 of the boys break out into relieved grins before sandwiching me into an impromptu group hug. I let the tears flow freely now, sandwiched between 3 boys that I love unconditionally, despite the fracture between us the last 2 months.
“Okay…I think that’s the last of it.” Arthur breaks the tense silence that has encompassed use ever since we set foot into the barebone flat. When Arthur and George had insisted on coming with me to help me pack my things (Chris claiming he had “better things to do with his time than help us losers”) , I had warned them the flat was minimally decorated, but the vague description certainly didn’t do justice to the depression pit I had previously been living in; majority of my belongings still sat abandoned in boxes from procrastinating packing when I first moved in, the furniture is basic and only what I had deemed necessary (a singular sofa, basic kitchen equipment, one small coffee table), the fridge is stark and my clothes are thrown in messy heaps on the bedroom floor.
We had barely spoken since George had questioned what I had been eating and my response of “I ordered takeaway sometimes” didn’t suffice, all 3 of us lost in our own thoughts. The drive back is void of conversation too, the silence only being broken when we arrive back and Arthur suggests we start unpacking my things.
“Uh-yeah, sure” I respond, thrown off by the demand of living with people once again and therefore being expected to tackle responsibilities straight away , rather than procrastinating and bed rotting to the maximum. My weariness must show on my face despite my attempts to mask it behind a smile, because George’s expression softens with concern.
“Is it okay if I speak to y/n for a second first?” George asks, side-eyeing Arthur pointedly until he finally clocks on to George’s less-than-subtle hint and walks away, muttering vaguely about going to unload the rest of the boxes from the car.
George sits on the sofa, patting the spot next to him and waiting until I am settled against the cushions before he speaks.
“Are you okay? You seem really tired and y/n - I am the last person to judge but your apartment just seemed so empty and messy and - well, unlike you” I almost flinch away from the concern in his gaze, having grown so familiar to isolation and internalising my problems that his concern feels foreign.
“I’m finally, probably just still a bit hungover from last night, don’t worry” the lie falls flat and lands stale in the air between us, and I can tell he doesn’t fall for it for even a second.
“Y/n” his tone isn’t strict but rather imploring, like he’s pleading with me for the truth.
I sigh gently, trying to emotionally regulate myself for the conversation I’m about to have. “I guess - I’ve just been so used to living by myself since everything that happened that I’ve gotten used to just laying in bed all day and it feels weird to actually have to be doing things and - god I sound so lazy I’m so sorry” my explanation is shaky and full of self doubt, and I only realise I’m near tears when George cups my cheek with a gentle hand, brushing his thumb under my eye soothingly.
“You’re not lazy at all my love and you never need to apologise…you’ve been through so much shit mostly because of me and I’m so so sorry for that-“ I cut off his ramble with a small shake of my head, not letting him blame himself for my mental state any longer.
“George you're not responsible for this, I promise you” I reassure him, and he surprises me by leaning forward and placing a lingering kiss on my forehead. Heat instantly tingles up my spine, and I bury my flushing cheeks into his chest as he cradles me tightly, rocking rhythmically.
“I hope you know that you're not alone anymore, and I will sit with you through your depression, your bad days, your good days, each and every single one of them” he promises, and if he notices how my breathe hitches at his use of the dreaded d-word, he doesn’t verbally acknowledge it but rather just holds me tighter.
“Thank you, G” I whisper, feeling his shoulders drop as we both relax fully into the embrace.
“Always darling” he breathes back, neither of us in a rush to break the sacred sort of peace that has settled in the quiet room.
The universe has other plans however, as Arthur Hill chooses that moment to loudly cough in warning before coming through the door with Chris and Arthur TV barrelling behind him.
“I brought some strays back with me, hope you don’t mind” Arthur Hill grins. We quickly separate from the embrace, but neither of us miss the barely concealed smirks adjourning the 3 boys’ expressions. Bach follows behind them, immediately cracking jokes about breast milk to lighten the mood.
Arthur TV immediately bounds to the sofa, resembling an over-excited puppy, and settles beside me with little concept of personal space. I can’t help but snuggle into him, the ache of being severely touch starved hitting me full force. He starts rambling to me about evolution and the podcast episode he filmed this morning with Bach, and soon enough we are giggling like teenagers.
Chris settles down at the end of the sofa, pulling my legs into his lap and rubbing circles into them as he joins in with our conversation. I am so engrossed in the conversation and the healing amount of human contact I am receiving right now that I completely miss George and Bach watching us with fond eyes.
“The angel babies of the group are finally back together” Bach murmurs to George, gesturing between me and Arthur TV, unbeknownst to the pair of us. George nods in agreement, allowing Bach to pull him into a hug and for himself to sink into the comforting atmosphere that now took up the room. He wouldn’t dare admit it, not yet at least, but the flat had felt wrong without you.
We sprawled out on the sofas for the remainder of the day, shit-eating and watching crappy movies until the day began to draw to a close. George padded up to me, smiling gently before sitting down where Arthur TV had been 2 minutes prior before going to the bathroom.
“Wanna come get some ice cream with me and watch the sunset? Your favourite ice cream place is still open and I promise minimal talking if that’s what you feel like right now” he proposes, rather nervously, as if expecting me to say no.
“Of course” I grin and he lets out a high-pitched “wehe” that makes me giggle at his childish glee. He picks me up bridal-style and practically skips to the door with a dramatic flourish, only stopping to allow me to slip my air-forces onto my feet.
“George” I half laugh, half groan as he insists on carrying me right out of the door, although I have no intention of really stopping him as his boyish giggles radiate pure joy, like that emotion has been locked away and left to rot for a while, and from the other boy’s expressions I suspect it might’ve been. Maybe he took the breakup harder than I expected after all.
We walk the short distance to my favourite ice-cream place, the one that we had discovered on our very first date, and then settle down on the river bank with an ice cream cone each and happy smiles lighting up our features.
“Hey George?” I break the comfortable silence after a while, glancing at him fondly.
“Yeah, lovey?” He replies back equally as gently, leaning in closer to me.
“Thank you. For this, for letting me move back in, for everything you’ve done for me in the past 2 days” I tell him, the quiet and the warmth of the spring air loosening my tongue, allowing my vulnerabilities to come rushing free.
He doesn’t reply instantly, his eyes flickering over every detail of my face before his expression shifts into a rare, more vulnerable state.
“I really missed you, y’know” his voice is hoarse and thick with emotion, making me want to just reach out and engulf him in my arms. “I never thought I would get a second chance…and now that I have it I don’t want to ruin it.”
“You won’t, I think we’ve both realised how much we need each other now” I admit, not being able to help my eyes from flickering between his eyes and lips where his face rests a mere 3 inches from mine. “I think I’m going to need to take it very slow though” I admit, my face burning with embarrassment.
“That’s understandable, and perfectly okay” he is quick to reassure me. "I’m willing to wait as long as you need”.
“I do have a question, though” he switches to a more playful tone, his eyes flickering down to my lips so swiftly that I swear I imagined it.
“Is the question to do with the fact you can’t keep your eyes off my lips? Because if so, the answer is yes, yes and yes” I flirt back, breath hitching as I pray that I haven’t misread the situation.
My doubts are swiftly silenced as his lips crash onto mine, reprieve, relief and the feeling of home hitting me all at once. It’s soft, patient and yet frantic and yearning all at once-like we are conveying each singular emotion through one kiss. He eventually pulls back, breathless, and I can only smile up at him, speechless.
“Well I guess I got my answer loud and clear” he finally speaks, and I collapse onto his chest in a fit of giddy laughter.
Yeah, I think we will be just fine, me and George.
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